Boredom
by MetaphoricallySane
Summary: 'BBC Sherlock' Johnlock slash. When Sherlock gets bored, the fun starts. Little does he realise John wanted him all along...


**Boredom.**

Johnlock

(BBC Sherlock)

John rushed up the stairs and into the main room of 221B as he heard gunfire, and, fearing the worst, trembled with anger and fear that someone had finally shot Sherlock. He had enough enemies; John dreaded coming home to find Sherlock- no, he couldn't even think it. But today might be that day.

Sherlock rolled his eyes over at John as he burst through the door. "Problem?" he asked, monotone. His voice was almost gritty with boredom, and John's panic heard it like nails on a chalkboard.

"Again with shooting the wall?" he fumed, secretly relieved but also irritated that Sherlock would scare him so much. Again. "For God's sake, Sherlock, why?"

"Bored!" Sherlock told him again, pushing his head back to the armrest of the sofa and kicking his legs out. "Maybe hearing gunshots will inspire a murderer somewhere."

John rubbed his face with his hands. "Can't you find some other way to entertain yourself? Mrs Hudson's going to kick us out soon."

"She wouldn't," Sherlock dismissed, dropping the gun to clasp his hands together in thought. "But shooting the wall is fun."

"There are lots of other fun things that don't include… well, guns!"

Sherlock elegantly stood up, striding towards John quickly. The doctor documented his rise is pulse with a slight tremble. Sherlock noticed everything. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Nothing," Sherlock replied, with a smirk.

"N-no, this is definitely something," John murmured, looking away from those perfect, slim, tempting lips. God, he knew it was wrong to think of his flat-mate like that, but something about it was just so right. He wanted to reach out and feel him, touch him, pull himself closer and just-

"Go ahead."

"Wh-what?"

Sherlock closed the gap between them with a single fluid step. "Please, John, I know what you're thinking. Diluted pupils, flushed cheeks, increased pulse…"

"How do you know about the-" John felt a grasp at his wrist, a tug, warmth "-pulse…"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Beyond John's knowledge, he bit his tongue to restrain himself. "Oh John…" he whispered, brushing his cheek against John's, hearing him gasp a little. "You know you want to…"

The doctor shut his eyes slightly, leaning into Sherlock's touch uncontrollably. "What is going on," he asked, hardly a question at all, hoping he already understood.

"That's up to you…"

Suddenly John had made up his mind. He wove his fingers into the taller man's curls and pulled him closer until their lips met and he felt that gentle but starved kiss as he leaned into Sherlock's strong body, feeling the heat radiating from him as he kissed him back, taking his breath away. Instinct took over; neither of the men were thinking; they couldn't, they were just falling to raw lust and desire.

Sherlock was nervous; it was of course his first kiss, but he wouldn't let John know that. No, he had to appear… experienced, lest he show his complete weakness. He had fantasised so long, but nothing compared to the pleasure from this; he was shaking slightly, and John knew. Fuck it.

John pulled back, his lips tingling with sparks, and gazed into Sherlock's eyes. He smiled slightly. "Not so confident now, are you?" he joked.

"Shut up," Sherlock murmured, and kissed John urgently again, needing to feel that proximity, needing his lips. He shuddered a little as he felt John's teeth graze his lip, forcing him into vulnerability as the soldier tugged at his hair, parted his lips and their tongues slid against each other's. Sherlock's eyes slammed open as he let out a soft moan, hands quickly finding John's jumper and tugging desperately, clawing to get it off. In response John tangled their tongues together viciously, agreeing to Sherlock's advances as Sherlock moaned again. The doctor massaged his neck tenderly until Sherlock had to pull back and gasp for breath.

"Bedroom?" John suggested slyly.

"Dear God, yes," Sherlock panted, still tugging at John's jumper until the man himself pulled it off and threw it to the ground. Sherlock almost whined; why did he have to wear a shirt as well?

John just laughed and took Sherlock's hand, leading him like a puppy up the stairs, knowing full-well that Sherlock was staring at his behind. It sent a shiver down his spine that he was finally doing this, after so long of waiting, watching, wishing. And now he was here, Sherlock's bedroom.

Sherlock was nervously excited, holding onto John's hand, even his superior intellect not understanding what to do next as he saw the bed in front of him. John's smile was reassuring; he trusted him, with his life and his virginity, but even still he was trembling. He wanted this so badly – he wanted John so badly…

John stroked his fingertips along Sherlock's jaw line, tipped his chin up and kissed his neck. Clueless of how to react, Sherlock held his waist, and whispered, "John, I've never-"

"I know," Watson replied quietly. "I'll be gentle. This time…"

Sherlock drew a sharp breath, gripping John's hips slightly, not knowing whether he had done the right thing when John's hips bucked slightly. He was about to apologise when John stopped him from talking, taking the words out of his mouth with a frenzied kiss as he walked him backwards, leaning him onto the bed and pushing him down. Sherlock fumbled for his shirt buttons, ripping them open and weaving his hands to John's chest, feeling John's nipples against his palms and rubbing his fingertips over them, exploring John's skin intently. John briefly nipped Sherlock's lower lip and Sherlock flinched, nails digging into the tender skin and John jerked in enjoyment.

"Again, Sherlock," he tutored, somewhat breathless, and Sherlock was quick to obey. John panted loudly and Sherlock bit his own lip against crying out. John straddled him quickly and tore at the buttons of his shirt, in return sucking on Sherlock's nipple, teeth grazing the soft skin and biting harder as Sherlock groaned in pleasure.

Hands grasping at his pelvis, Sherlock's hips buckled and he threw his head back, unsure whether to stop John or not. He didn't want to. He was scared but the pleasure was worth it. What if he had a bad body in John's eyes? What if he didn't react properly? What if he screamed, and that was wrong?

What if someone heard? What if someone saw them?

To be honest, neither of them cared about being caught. They had waited far too long for this.

"J-John," Sherlock stammered, dragging himself back, further onto the bed. "I… Please, I've never…"

"Relax, Sherlock," John told him, concentrating on undoing Sherlock's flies. "I've never done this with a man either…"

"But John, I haven't even-"

He yelped as John yanked down his trousers and cupped his throbbing crotch. He was shaking even more, sweating all over, straining not to- he didn't even know. The whole sensation was so overwhelming, the blood rushing through his veins to his manhood, so hard it hurt, so hot it burnt him.

"John," he breathed. "No one has ever… has ever touched me…"

John was almost shocked – how could no one ever have this man? He was stunningly sexy, perfectly chiselled, his body practically made of marble it was so tough with muscle, and yet no one had ever straight up screwed him? It made John proud. He would take the virginity of Sherlock Holmes. He would be the first – and he hoped the only man Sherlock would ever be so close to. "Let's change that," John growled, and tore away his boxers and seized him hard.

Sherlock cried out, panting louder and faster now, unsure if that was the correct reaction but not giving a damn by this point. All that mattered was John. All that matter was the fact that John had him – he was John's and John's alone. He was shaking but he loved it. "Oh God," he yelled, through clenched teeth.

"Just you wait," John teased, running his thumb over Sherlock's moist head, feeling it pulse through his body and into his hand. It made him tremble with desire, a lust he simply could not ignore. Suddenly just touch was not enough. Sherlock seemed to agree as he pulled John's belt off, tugged at his jeans, and John let him, still rubbing softly but now slightly faster. He murmured Sherlock's praise as he lost his own boxers and pressed into Sherlock's belly, brushing their members together and hearing Sherlock's pleas. Watson tipped his head back, ecstasy rushing through him with every slight friction between them both.

He lowered himself urgently and took Sherlock in his mouth, running his tongue around him quickly, savouring the taste. Sherlock tried to squirm free but couldn't muster the strength to so much as move, his shoulders and back arching back as he panting and moaned, not even understanding the need to shout but complying anyway.

"S-say my name," John ordered, though it was somewhat muffled.

Sherlock didn't understand but he didn't need to. John bobbed his head over him, that friction dragging up and down and up and down and Sherlock had no choice. Unable to stop himself, he screamed, "JOHN!"

"Again," John panted, licking and nipping and sucking.

Sherlock threw his head back, clenched his fists, tugged at the bed sheets. "Holy fuck, JOHN! Yes!"

"Sherlock…" John hissed, swallowing quickly, preparing himself. "Let go…"

"Of wha-" But just then he found out. John deep-throated and clamped his teeth slightly, raking his teeth back along as Sherlock groaned and bucked and lost himself in the first throw of climax, unable to hold himself back from calling out, over and over, "John, John, JOHN!"

Grasping onto Sherlock's hips he swallowed, hard, again and again, understanding fully that this was Sherlock's first… so of course he would be scared and unsure. John doubted Sherlock would have researched something like that. But holy crap, he was sweet… John wondered how that would happen, considering Sherlock rarely ate… He guessed it was those two sugars in the coffee. In fact, that's what the taste was – coffee and cream and sugar. Like caffeine he swirled it around his mouth before swallowing and feeling that energy buzz through him.

Slowly he moved away, still panting as he crawled up to kiss Sherlock again, letting the lack few drops of the divine substance flow from his lips to Sherlock's as Sherlock gasped, anxious and confused. "It's alright," John told him quietly. "You did… good…"

"Good?"

"Very good…"

"But what was that… that stuff?"

John chuckled a little, and rested his forehead on Sherlock's. "Just say my name. One more time…"

Sherlock still held John's waist, loosely now, but then he gripped a little harder, and whispered, his voice thick and lustrous and sensual, "John."

Lunging forward, John let himself pant against Sherlock's neck and he let it go and Sherlock moaned one last time as the warmth spread over his hips, dripping off him as he took deep breaths to calm himself. His shoulders relaxed as John climbed off of him, kissing his neck as he did so.

"You didn't… answer my question…" Sherlock joked, and they both laughed a little.

"Don't worry about it," John answered dismissively. "It's normal."

Sherlock would find out in his own time. John wasn't going to tell. At least not yet. The idea of Sherlock not knowing something was too sweet.

"So… can I ask why? Not that I'm complaining…"

"Boredom."

"Really? No… uh…"

"Oh, I wanted to… Believe me… But I never thought you would… I just meant to tease you."

"Riiiight. Like you just meant to accidentally follow me upstairs."

"Exactly. You didn't really give me a chance… Not that I would have declined."

"I wouldn't have let you."

Smiling, John kissed him tenderly. Sherlock smiled back and wrapped his arms around his partner. "Promise me something?" John asked.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and nuzzled into John a little, suddenly tired. He yawned a little. John grinned; it must have been the first time he'd ever seen Sherlock yawn.

"Next time you're bored, ditch the gun and find me."

"You've got it, dear," Sherlock mumbled, hardly aware he'd even said something before he was fast asleep.

John blinked a few times, assuming he had heard Sherlock wrong but even still feeling his heart flutter. "Good night, my love," he whispered, and kissed Sherlock's forehead before he too settled down to dream.


End file.
